


Bound

by Sourcherrymagiks



Series: Your Ex Lover is Dead [9]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Biting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Monsterfucking, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Smut, Subspace, tiny bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: He gives the knot at my wrists a quick tug and the rope falls to the floor.“Take it all off.”“All of it?” I check. It’s been a while.“All of it.”
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Your Ex Lover is Dead [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593220
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).



> Thank you to Starwarned and Giishu for beta’ing 💕💕

**Baz**

The view from our table is astonishing. The floor to ceiling windows open out onto snow covered fields and a very forbidding, incredibly snow covered Cader Idris. 

The last of the daylight is dawdling on its way out, the way it does when everything is blanketed in white. I stretch my legs under the table slightly feeling like a cat who got all of the cream. My idiot finance grins back at me like the moron he is.

“Don’t spoil the moment with your drivel darling.” I sneer around the words but it only succeeds in making him giggle. Which has an equal amount of moment-spoiling potential. Except not really. Love has made me weak and foolish so his giggle _makes_ a moment. Crowley. 

The soft light from the candles plays on his skin. He looks even more golden than usual. I find myself lost in the magic of his forearm. The stupid muscles. The ludicrous blond hairs. The intolerable moles and freckles. The way he abso-fucking-lutlyhas to roll his sweater and shirt up to elbow even though it _destroys_ them.

“S’lovely isn’t it?” He catches all of my thoughts and finds a way to capture them in a simple sentence. 

Because it is bloody lovely. All of it. 

This week has been hard on him. Hard in ways I cannot begin to fathom. This is where he should have spent his childhood. This is where he should have grown into his powers in the company of a mother who loved him. Instead the little cottage is just a monument to everything he missed out on. A promise unfulfilled. 

It’s unloved and unliveable now. Just a decaying shell of a neglected stone cottage. Windows broken in the relentless Welsh weather. Roof caved in. Damp and sour everywhere. 

We haven’t talked about it yet. The feelings are still too raw. We’ve come a long way when it comes to sharing but this is going to take time. 

Time and food. 

Well, time, food and perhaps something more.

 **Simon**

It’s bloody lush here. I love everything about it. I feel like I should feel more sad or angry or something but I don’t really feel any of that. It would have been nice if it had been my life but it wasn’t meant to be. And really who knows what kind of arsehole I might have ended up being if I had had the whole happy family thing? 

I’m happy now. It’s hard to regret anything that led up to this moment. Sitting across from the man I’m going to marry, looking out at a snowy mountain, about to eat my body weight in food. 

My arm is prickling under his stare. I dunno why he decided that’s the bit he wants to focus on in this scene but he’s fucking going for it. I shift slightly in my seat and make a completely innocent little groaning noise. Completely innocent. 

His head snaps up and he gives me a look that makes all the bones in my legs melt. Just turn into warmed up marshmallow. I couldn’t stand up if a goblin hoard descended. 

Whatever was going to happen next is interrupted by the waiter bringing our starters. Baz mutters something _not polite_ under his breath. It’s hard not to giggle. But I’m fucking starving and there is a saffron risotto calling for my attention. Baz has got some posh black pudding thing with leaves on it and it looks fine, nice even, but I’m in it for the carbs tonight. I hope I’ll need the energy. 

The risotto is creamy and rich. I almost purr. 

Baz gives me another look. Guess I might have actually purred. Out loud. 

I cover my impending embarrassment by shovelling more food into my mouth. It really did earn that purr. All food should be like this. 

**Baz**

This has turned into an excruciating exercise in self restraint. When Simon is enjoying something he leans into it with everything. 

Unfortunately my body isn’t able to separate innocently enjoying with _enjoying_. 

I give him a look which has no effect. 

So I stop playing entirely fairly. 

I snap my fingers as soon as the buzz of conversation in the restaurant allows for it. I do not wish to appear like I’m summoning waiting staff.)(These waiting staff are burly farmers children who look like they snap rude posh southerners as sport.)

Simon’s back goes completely rigid. A slight flush colours his cheek. I hear his heartbeat speed up. 

“Behave, please, darling. I promise you will get everything that you need. But not here.” My tone is the same as if we were discussing coven business or the continual pretence that Bunce and Shepard are ‘flatmates’.

He nods. 

He’s only fucking pretending to be contrite and obedient. For now. 

“It doesn’t feel like mine at all. Not like Mere Down. It’s not calling to me at all. I don’t know the ghosts there. They don’t want me.” He stammers an almost imperceptible amount at the start. The only giveaway that he is putting his whole heart out on the tablecloth for me. Nothing comes less easily to Simon Snow than verbalising feelings. 

“There are ghosts at Mere?” I ask irrelevantly. For I also have significant issues with talking about feelings. 

“Yeah, a couple of governesses and a gardener. They seem nice enough. More about the ‘making sure you don’t fall in the pond’ and ‘you take a sweater with you’ than the whole scaring you to death thing. Not like the Pitch ghosts who are all tossers.”

“Do not blame my ancestral ghosts for your weaknesses sweetheart, it’s unbecoming.” I cover my snort in a mouthful of black pudding. 

He rolls his eyes at me hard.

“So yeah. Maybe sell it. There isn’t anyone else with any tie to it. The money can go straight into Watford. I’ll have done with it all then. Really done, not just hidden-away-and-not-talked-about-it done.” His shoulders slump from the effort of squeezing the words out. 

“Anything I can do, love?” I ask, having no idea what could help. 

Well, I have a bit of an idea about the help he might want. 

He turns his perfectly ordinary blue eyes on me. I lose myself in them for a moment. I always do. But he flicks them towards the table.

I look down.

He’s holding his wrists together on the table. Pulse point to pulse point. 

The temperature in the room ratchets up. 

The world comes to a halt on its axis. 

He dips his head submissively and I can barely catch breath. 

“Get to the car Simon, I will be there in five minutes. Possibly less.”

**Simon**

I panic a bit about who’s driving. Which is a stupid thing to focus on. 

I get into the passenger seat and start twisting my hands together because I’ve fucking asked for it now.

Time and experience have taught us that hotels don’t really work for us. Or the other guests within earshot. So we’ve got a cottage up on the hills behind Dolgellau which is hopefully far enough away from everyone to give us space to... well... you know. 

He comes out of the restaurant and faffs in the boot for far too long. Normally I’d shout at him but the making me wait, it’s all part of it now. 

I asked for it and, fuck, he always gives it to me.

He moves so bloody fast with the rope that before I can even twist away my hands are bound in my lap. Huh. Guess that’s what we’re playing tonight. Lush.

“I apologise for the simplicity of that tie sweetheart but I promise I will more than make up for it later.” He strokes the rope around my wrist almost absently as he starts the car. 

I try not to come. 

He is still a fucking villain and I feel like it’s my job in life to make sure he gets every opportunity to explain his devious plans to me while I’m tied up. 

“Stop grinning at me Salisbury, it makes you look too adorable.”

I giggle a bit but then try very hard to behave. Because I want this so badly. I want him to take it all away. Everything that isn’t him and the rope. 

Enough of thinking. 

Enough of deciding. 

I just want to _be_.

**Baz**

The advantage of having known Simon forever is that by now it is second nature to know exactly what he needs. 

He has always had too much on his plate. The whole world has been his responsibility since he was eleven years old. He might be considerably better dressed, slightly more stable and infinitely more confident these days but it still weighs on him. 

I can give him the rest he needs though. Well me and a few meters of rope. 

He’s already focussed on the restraint around his wrists. All of his mental energy is wrapped up in bringing himself to heel. The tie will hold him easily, in fact it will get tighter if he moves at all, but that’s not how Simon plays. 

For his beautiful bratty mind it’s all about managing himself. Simon cannot sit still for a second, not ever, almost not if his life depended on it. I used to threaten him every single day we shared a room at Watford and it had no impact on his tapping, twisting, shuffling, twitching and general attempts to turn himself into a pretzel. So for him to sit next to me in perfect (so fucking perfect) submission is a feat of self control that I can barely comprehend. 

That he does it in part for me makes my heart do uncomfortable things. It makes my cock do even more uncomfortable things.

I drive a little faster. 

**Simon**

I ache with sitting still by the time we get to the cottage even though it can’t have been more than ten minutes.

The lights come on in the car as Baz opens the door and I feel myself blinking like I’ve been asleep. He opens my door and helps me out of the car without untying me. His touches are quick and impersonal. No lingering or winding me up. I wouldn’t last and nor would he. The rope is intimate enough. 

It’s a bit of a nightmare getting inside because it’s so fucking dark and Baz’s hand is too shaky to make clean work of the lock. 

He finally gets it and drags me inside after him. The fire is still roaring in the hearth and between that and the candles the room glows. 

He leads me to stand in the middle of the room and leaves me there. I know he’ll be getting a drink. I know all of his routines. I think he probably does it to get a hold on himself. I think he wants me to think it’s to test my patience. But he must know by now I’d wait forever for his touch. 

As if on cue he comes back into the room undoing the top two buttons on his shirt (well the top two he had buttoned, he doesn’t believe his collar bones are a thing that should be hidden from the general public.) (I agree.). 

He gives the knot at my wrists a quick tug and the rope falls to the floor.

“Take it all off.”

“All of it?” I check. It’s been a while.

“ _All_ of it.”

I swallow hard. He slouches elegantly into an armchair like a slutty Sherlock Holmes to watch. I’ll fucking give him a show then.

Sadly I’m wearing a jumper and there is legitimately no sexy way to take a jumper off yourself. So I do it quick and make sure that it pulls up the shirt underneath so Baz gets a good fucking eyeful of skin before I lower my arms.

Because I’m a twat even when I mean to behave I fumble each button on my shirt. It must take five minutes to get six buttons open. 

I don’t dare to look at him but I can hear him drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. I stifle a laugh and take the shirt off. 

Not looking at him while he’s looking at me makes it easier and harder at the same time. I’m always at fighting weight these days and that is far from a six pack. I hear his breath catch and remind myself that he chose this. Chose me. As I am. 

The thought gives me the nudge I need to take off my belt. I unnecessarily run it through my hands with a flick at the end. Because why not summon up the ghosts of flogging past whenever you have a chance?

He clears his throat. I smile. 

I bungle taking my shoes and socks off. Again if there is a sexy way to do it I’ve not found it. I make up for it with the actually sexy unbuttoning of my jeans. They slide down my legs exactly like they should. 

Before I start messing about with my pants I release the breath I’ve been holding. 

My wings clatter out like the showy bastards they are and my tail snakes down around my leg.

“Gorgeous.” Baz practically growls at me. He sits forward, elbows on his knees and fucking eats me with his eyes. My belly turns to fire and hunger. 

Being wanted like this, it presses on me, there’s always a moment where it suffocates me. But then it bursts into flames. Consumes me whole.

I turn as I slip my pants off so the view he gets is all arse first.

“Enough teasing thank you, love, up or down?” He sounds amused and horny as fuck but still so fucking _bossy_. 

“Whichever pleases you.” It’s the closest I get to being a proper sub. We played with ‘Sir’ and ‘Master’ but I’m too prone to giggles and it spoils the fun a bit. 

“Lie down then, on the rug, prop your head up like this, I want you to watch.”

I nod like a fuck drunk idiot. He hasn’t even touched me yet. 

Then I do exactly as I’m told. 

**Baz**

Breathe. 

Breathe.

Try not to lick him. There will be time for licking. 

Crowley. I think I would be forgiven for thinking this is a dream. The firelight shimmers over his skin echoing the way the candle light played on his arm earlier. It feels like hours ago now. 

He’s close to slipping under. The thought makes a little shiver run down my spine. 

I pick up the length of black rope I dropped here earlier. The weight of it in my hands quiets my mind as much as the tightness of it will quiet Simon’s. 

“Ready, love?” I ask softly, he taps once on the floor. Words don’t work for Simon so taps and touches make up his whole language once we get started. 

I start with a loop around his shoulder that binds the top of his arm to his wing. His eyes fly open, puzzled.

“Yes or no?” 

He taps. I carry on binding, building, mapping a pattern of diamonds over his wing and arm. The black rope looks beautiful against his red wing. He looks like art. 

“This is an adaption of the Hishi Karada my love. Your wings deserve to look this beautiful and this bound. I suppose that it technically is just a Hishi because it’s not your whole body but I’m not sure I know the word for dragon wing in Japanese. Crowley, love. It is breathtaking.” He is lightyears beyond hearing me but I love to talk as I work. It stops me from rutting against him until I come.

I finish his right side and sit back on my heels to take it in. If I can finish his whole body it will be beyond anything. I find myself lazily palming my cock as I drink him in.

The second side goes faster. I have knots in my head but you never know how it’s going to play out once you put them on a body. Particularly a body part the books don’t really cover. 

I don’t skimp on the touches as I work. Deep down Simon still fears his wings, worries what they might mean, worries they don’t mean anything at all. I do not worry. I have accepted that this is my kink. 

Simon.

Anything that Simon is or has.

The bumps and ridges of his wings make me lose my mind as much as his skin. I want to read every word that time has written there. I drop a kiss on a bullet scar and push down the memory of him lying on the ground. Replace it with _this_ vision of him on the ground. Bound under my hands, breathing hard, turned on to within an inch of his life and finally, finally, not fighting. 

I reach the tip of his wing, bend my head and close my mouth around it. It’s heavy and rough against my tongue. Simon arches his back and begs.

“Please oh please, fuck please, please?”

“Do you promise not to come love? I’m far from finished.”

“Yes, please, I’ll be good, so good please.”

I wrap one hand around his cock, hard and wet. He would never manage to hold off without help. I squeeze the base hard and bite his wing.

The taste of blood fills me with blinding heat. It’s always hotter here, like his wings are the same lava hot of dragon blood. The blood still tastes of cinnamon and cake batter but also of mushrooms and dirt. Old. Immortal. 

Simon makes a noise which is surely illegal and thrusts up hard into my hand. I don’t give an inch. He sobs with frustration and pleasure. When I sit back to look at him I see tears in his eyes.

“Are you coping or shall I fuck you now?”

He thrusts up into my hand again but then gathers himself enough to tap. 

Oh, he will kill me one day. 

But not today.

**Simon**

My arms are so bound. I feel like my wings are holding me and I don’t hate it. 

I can hardly think except ‘more’ and ‘want’ and ‘yes’.

I’m so lost in the way his hair flops down over his face as he works. The little clicks of his tongue when he doesn’t get it quite right, the soft sighs as he touches me everywhere. 

He’s flushed now, from the blood, it suits him. I want him to take off his clothes. I want to feel the rub of his hair on my chest. I need him to cool me down before I boil alive. 

Instead he pulls out a length of blood red rope. I lick my lips and give myself over to his hands.

**Baz**

Working with his wings is one thing. Touching his chest, knotting around his stomach is another game entirely. 

I can’t help but brush his skin time after time with the backs of my hands, my fingertips, my palms. He must be aching. I am fucking aching. 

About halfway through tying the diamond harness with a flower weave over his torso my control implodes. 

I stand and almost rip my shirt off. I spoil the mood entirely by swearing and scrabbling at my shoes and socks. By the time I’m down to my trousers I’ve had enough. Magic does the rest. 

Simon gives me a stupid grin and a come hither look. I do.

The press of my skin against his with only the pinch of rope between us. There is magic in it without any magic. 

“I love you.” Slips from my stupid mouth between kisses.

“I love you, too, but please, please, more.” 

This is why he is a terrible terrible Sub. 

The fact that I make no attempt to punish him is why I am an appalling Dom. 

Instead I finish the knots drawing the rope finally around his arse making sure that I unnecessarily touch his cock thousands of times. He’s squirming openly now. Desperate for anything. 

I stand back up and take a step back so I can take it all in. It’s sublime. He is sublime. 

I have so many plans. 

I kneel back between his legs, running a finger up and down the crease of his hip. This moment where I hold us both back. This is the moment I could live in. All torture and want and ache and need. 

Simon breaks first. He always does. 

“Fucking fuck me Baz.”

“Manners, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

He groans and then _whines_ when he realises exactly what I mean.

I turn and sit on his chest, my arse in his face. 

He never hesitates in battle and he never hesitates in sex. He grabs the base of the sleek black plug in his teeth and draws it achingly slowly from my arse. He gobs it unceremoniously onto the floor but one cannot have everything. It would be too much to expect him to remain civilised at a time like this. 

His tongue takes its place immediately. Sloppy open mouthed kisses that turn me into a mess of want. I slap his thigh hard to stop him so I can change position. It briefly has the opposite effect. I almost scream as his tongue breaches me again, again, again. 

**Simon**

He moves away from me which is mean and unfair. Before I can complain he’s sinking down onto me and _fuck_ I’m as hard as I’ve ever been. 

He wraps his hands around the rope on my chest to give him leverage as he fucks down onto me hard. 

Merlin, he looks like he could cast a volcano. 

“Shit Baz, I’m gonna come, fuck.”

“No you don’t love, not before me.”

I thrash as much as I can and then realise I’m not entirely bound. 

He throws his head back and makes the most beautiful noise as my tail curves around his cock. 

It only takes him a couple of thrusts to come hot and hard over me. 

Without any conscious action on my part my tail snakes up to his mouth. When he licks his come from my scales every cell in my body tenses, magic skitters overs my skin, out across my wings, twines around the ropes. 

In one fluid movement the ropes fall away and I reach up to flip him over. 

This isn’t how this is really supposed to go but when have we ever respected rules? 

He rakes his nails down my shoulders as I pound into him. Magic and love and want rise up in me and then….everything is white.

Everything is so good it hurts. 

I collapse onto him sweating and shaking. Nuzzling into his neck, stroking the side of his chest, trying to get as close as possible.

He grabs a blanket and pulls it around me a second before I start shivering. 

“Are you ok, love?” He murmurs into my ear.

“M’so good.” I say then my stomach growls so bloody loud he startles in shock then laughs. One of his big silly laughs.

“It is extremely fortunate that I both love you and _know you.”_

He shifts me off him with a slight wince then arranges me back against the pillows. I mumble and whine when he moves away but he’s back with a cooler. Full of food. 

He smirks at my wide eyes. 

“From the restaurant?” I ask hopefully. 

He nods “I would never ever presume to make you go without dinner, my love. Even if you have destroyed my beautiful ropes.” 

“M’sorry about that but feed me now, please, you can punish me later.” 

He raises his glorious eyebrow at me. 

“Oh, I will.” 


End file.
